


Used to be mine

by metaphoricheart



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Bipolar Disorder, Bipolar Ian Gallagher, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Episode: s11e06 Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good....Eh Screw It, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher and Mickey Milkovich use their words, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mickey Milkovich Loves Ian Gallagher, Season/Series 11, Soft Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:20:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29554134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metaphoricheart/pseuds/metaphoricheart
Summary: Takes place sometime after 11x06.Carl finds some pictures while moving into the basement. A picture brings up some things from the past for Ian. Ian finally learns to start letting the past go.Title from She Used to Be Mine by Sara Barellies. Fic also partially inspired by and paired with the song.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & The Gallaghers, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Mickey Milkovich & The Gallaghers
Comments: 12
Kudos: 209





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place sometime after 11x06.  
> Title from She Used to Be Mine by Sara Barellies. Fic also partially inspired by and paired with the song. I know it says "she" but the sentiment remains. This is kind of a cathartic thing that I'm doing because I've issues with parrallels to Ian, and this song reminds me of them. I also just think it fits him well.
> 
> Anyway, the song isn't that important. Thanks for reading. The fic will probably be 2 chapters.

_“It's not simple to say  
Most days I don't recognize me  
These shoes and this apron  
That place and its patrons  
Have taken more than I gave 'em  
It's not easy to know  
I'm not anything like I used to be  
Although it's true  
I was never attention sweet center  
I still remember that girl..._

_She is gone but used to be mine." -Sara Bareilles, Used to be Mine_

Carl came up from his new basement lair to the chaos of his family starting dinner.

:Hey,” Ian said. He handed Carl a plate. “Spaghetti’s on the counter.”

Carl grabbed his plate and sat down with the rest of his family. “So check out what I found while cleaning stuff out down there” Carl grinned and pulled a stack of photos from his back pocket. He slapped them onto the table. 

LIam reached over and grabbed the one on top. It was a bald, chubby baby in a high chair with food on their head. He laughed. “Oh my god who is this?” 

“Here let me see it.” Debbie considered the picture and smirked. “That’s totally Carl.”

“Hey! That is definitely not me!” 

Ian made grabby hands across the table. “Give it to me I’ll settle this.” Ian stared at the picture. “Sorry, Debs, that’s you.” He handed the picture back to his sister.

“Ha!” Carl said in triumph. 

“How do you know that’s me?” Debbie asked, frowning at Ian.

“Uh, because I was like seven when you were a baby.” Ian laughed.

“Is that even old enough to remember that?” Debbie scoffed.

“You start to gain the ability to remember things when you’re like 2,” Liam said. Mickey held out his hand for the picture, and Liam handed it to him. Mickey looked at it and smirked. 

“Whatever,” Debbie said. “Let’s see the rest.” 

They went through the rest of the pictures laughing and teasing each other. Franny kept yelling, “I want to see!” more than was probably necessary. 

The last one was a picture of Ian around 12, in his ROTC uniform. Debbie held it up. “Oh my god Ian, look at you. Those bangs and the freckles. You look so young and cute!”

“Oh, I gotta see this one,” Mickey said. He looked at it and laughed. He reached over to his husband and pinched his cheek. “So cute.” 

Ian blushed and grabbed it out of his husband’s hand. Ian laughed at the picture. He held it and kept looking at it while the rest of his family went back to bickering with each other. Mickey watched him. Ian wasn’t smiling looking at it anymore. He looked kind of sad. Ian cleared his throat, and pushed it to the center of the table. He ate the rest of the meal in mostly silence.

While the rest of the family was distracted by clearing the table and arguing over whose turn it was to do dishes, Mickey pulled his husband aside. “Hey, you ok?” 

Ian smiled softly at him. “Yeah, I’m good, Mick.” Ian patted Mickey’s cheek. “I’m gonna grab a shower.” 

Mickey entered their room. Ian was spread out on the bed looking at something on his phone. His wet towel on the end of the bed. Ian’s eyes were red and puffy.

“Ew, get this off here,” Mickey said. “You’re going to make my side all wet.”

Ian picked up the towel and threw it at Mickey instead. Mickey rolled his eyes and threw it into the corner. He watched Ian go back to scrolling and sat next to him.He pulled the picture of Ian in his ROTC uniform out of his back pocket, and threw it into Ian’s line of vision. Ian glanced at it, and then back at his phone. Mickey sighed.

“Bring up some stuff?” Mickey asked quietly, gesturing his chin towards the picture. 

Ian sighed and looked up at Mickey. “Yeah, a bit.” 

Mickey leaned over and kissed Ian’s forehead. “Wanna talk about it?” 

Ian shook his head. “No, but uh, I need to be back here by 2 tomorrow. So whatever run we’re doing. You can drop me here and finish.” 

“Uh okay… why?” Mickey asked.

Ian rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t look at Mickey. “Because… you know how they’ve got me on a therapy schedule of every other week? This isn’t my week..but I think I need to go. So I texted Olivia. That’s when she has time tomorrow.”

Ian rubbed his hands together nervously, when Mickey didn’t respond right away, he continued. “I think… I could be headed towards a bit of a down swing if I don’t do something about it.” 

Mickey still didn’t respond right away. Ian finally made himself look at his husband. Mickey was smiling softly at him with tears in his eyes. 

“What?” Ian asked, completely thrown off by this reaction.

Mickey pulled Ian into his side. “I’m proud of you.”

“For what?” Ian asked still confused.

“For realizing that you need help and are making sure to get it right away. For admitting it.,” Mickey said gently. He pulled Ian’s head onto his shoulder and kissed the top of his head quickly three times. 

Ian didn’t say anything but kissed the top of Mickey’s head back. Mickey got up. “You want to come down and watch this movie Carl wants to watch? Drink some beer?”

“Nah, I think I just want to stay here and chill.”

Mickey searched Ian’s eyes to check that Ian would be okay alone. “Okay bitch. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “And I’ll be up here if you need me.”

Mickey laughed, and left the room. Ian slid down on the bed, and put headphones in, zoning out to music. Mickey came up later to find Ian passed out with his phone in his hand, music still playing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian goes to therapy. Most of this chapter is dialogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of this is dialogue, sorry. I also think I will probably do another chapter where Ian talks to Mickey about what happened in therapy. It felt too long to add it to this chapter, and I honestly don't feel like writing it right now. So there will probably be another chapter, but don't count on it.
> 
> This is kind of out of character for Ian, but like whatever. He deserves to be a more in depth person than what they can portray on the screen with the limited time of the episodes. So maybe it's not out of character. We just don't get to see it.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!

_"It's not what I asked for  
Sometimes life just slips in through a back door  
And carves out a person  
And makes you believe it's all true  
And now I've got you  
And you're not what I asked for  
If I'm honest I know I would give it all back  
For a chance to start over  
And rewrite an ending or two  
For the girl that I knew." -Sara Bareilles, She Used to be Mine _

Ian watched Olivia flip the sign on her door to “do not disturb” and shut it. His therapist turned around. “I’m glad you came in, Ian. I was a bit concerned about you last week.” 

Ian shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah.”

She sat down and crossed her legs. “This is a good thing, Ian. This is real progress for you. Proactively asking for help.” 

Uncomfortable, Ian rubbed the back of his neck. “You said you were concerned though?” 

“Sometimes progress doesn’t always feel better,” Olivia said simply. “Let’s get the routine questions you hate out of the way.” She smiled understandingly at him. “Are you taking your meds as prescribed?” 

“Yes,” Ian said. 

“Do you have your monthly psychiatrist appointment booked yet? Last week that was something you needed to do.” 

“Yeah,” Ian said. “It’s next Thursday.”

She wrote it down. “Great. So you contacted me because you needed to talk about something?” 

Ian nodded and pulled the picture of him in his ROTC uniform out of his jacket pocket. He held it out to her. 

She smiled. “This you?”

“Yeah,” Ian nodded. 

“How old are you here?” 

“12 or 13,” Ian replied. “Monica used to take a ton of photos while manic and forget to develop them until the next time she blew back in manic.”

“What are you wearing?” Olivia asked.

“ROTC uniform,” Ian said. 

“You look proud,” Olivia commented. 

Ian brought his hands together, and cracked his knuckles. “Yeah...yeah, I was,” Ian said with a sad smile.

She handed the picture back to him, and took note of how Ian flipped it upside down before placing it next to him. “Is this picture what triggered your current feelings, Ian?”

“Yeah.” 

“Can you tell me about it?”

Ian rubbed the back of his neck again. Now that he was here, he didn’t know how to talk about it. “I..I don’t know how to. Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. Let’s start basic then. What did this picture cause you to feel?”  
“Uh, sadness. Shame. A lot of sadness. Some of it is like… weird sadness,” He looked up at her. 

“Weird sadness?” Olivia asked to clarify.

“Yeah...I don’t know if there’s a word for it. Do you ever see something terrible happen to someone and you feel sad for them in like...a caring way?”

“Every day,” Olivia replied. 

“I guess you would with your job,” Ian muttered. “Anyway, it’s like that kind of sad… but not directed at someone else. It’s directed at me. Younger me.”

She smiled softly at her patient. “That’s pretty profound, Ian.” 

Ian shrugged. “Yeah...I guess…” 

“I think what you’re describing is a kind of grief,” she told him.

Ian crinkled his eyebrows in confusion. “Isn’t that for when someone dies?” 

Olivia nodded. “It can be. It’s also just mourning anything you’ve lost. A lot of the feelings in break ups are grief. Your grieving the loss of that relationship and everything that goes with it.”

“I’m not breaking up with anyone though,” Ian said.

“It can be more abstract. You can mourn the loss of opportunities. You can feel grief about not having what you expected life to be.”

Ian considered this, but didn’t say anything. Olivia let him digest the information for a few seconds before moving ahead. “I’m going to ask you to try something that might feel a little weird. Can you pick the picture back up and look at it again?”

Ian picked it up, and looked at her expectantly for the next instruction. She fully expected Ian to roll his eyes at the next question but he didn’t except shift in his seat. “What things make you sad for the kid in that picture?”

His eyes teared up, and he rubbed the back of his neck. Olivia watched him look anywhere around the room but at her or the picture. She sighed and leaned forward a bit in her chair. 

“Ian,” she said gently. “There’s no one else here. It’s just me and you. And nothing leaves this room except under circumstances you are well aware of. No one else will see this. No one else will know this.” 

He looked down into his lap and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I know, but…”

“I know it’s scary. You’re doing such a good job so far. We can stop if you want but I think you’ve got it in you to keep going.”

Ian nodded and took a deep breath. “I just..I had so many plans. So many goals. West Point. None of it happened because I went crazy… and I’ve been so mad at myself for it, for years.”

“What’s the question that I always ask you?” Olivia asked.

“‘Did you have the ability, control, support, or knowledge to do something different?’” Ian responded. She nodded in confirmation. 

“I...I was thinking about that, actually. I think it is why I feel sad for myself back then. Because I realized last night, that the answer is no. I couldn’t have done something different. I was 16. I didn’t know the things I know now.” Ian finished, surprised he’d managed to say all of that.

Olivia smiled at him proudly. “That’s a really important revelation, Ian. Don’t let it slip by.”

Ian smiled shyly back at her. “Yeah. I know.” He took another deep breath and continued, “I was a kid. Everything leading up to how Mickey got in jail the first time, I was a kid. Or had just barely turned 18. I was so… young.”

He stopped talking again, seemingly embarrassed at sharing this information. She didn’t say anything because she knew there was more. So she waited.

“I don’t stay mad at Liam for Franny for things they didn’t know..” Ian trailed off.

“Mhm,” she said. “Keep going with this train of thought.”

“They’re kids. They’re a lot younger than I was but even if they were older, I don’t think I could stay mad at them for not knowing better,” Ian felt his hands shaking. This was the point of it all. But was he allowed to feel this way after all that he had done?” He wiped some tears from his eyes. “I’ve spent so much fucking time being angry and hating myself for what happened. I’ve spent years. So… if I was a kid..”

“Ian, even if you weren’t a kid you still didn’t have the resources or ability to have done anything differently,” Olivia reminded him.

“Okay but what I’m saying is… what if I don’t have to be mad at myself for what happened? I feel sad and I don’t know… sympathetic towards who I was. I feel so fucking sad. But what if I don’t have to be angry?” Ian was fully crying by now.

“That’s a good question,: Olivia said. “So what if you don’t have to be mad anymore? What happens if you let that go?”

“I don’t know,” Ian said. He started to cry harder. “If I don’t stay mad, then that makes what I did okay. So how is that allowed?”

Olivia reached out and placed a hand on his knee and squeezed. “Yes, it is allowed.” She said slowly and clearly. “Forgiving yourself or not being angry at yourself anymore does not change what happened. It does not make anything that happened okay. You’re right. But it’s been years Ian. A decade. You’ve taken accountability for those things and done what you needed to do. That’s all anyone can ask of you to do. So yes, you’re allowed to let it go. You don’t become a bad person if you don’t stay angry with yourself.” 

Ian wrapped his arms around himself hunched over, still crying. Crying for that kid with all the plans. Crying for that person with undiagnosed bipolar. He thought of something that made him feel cold with panic and sat up. “What about Mickey?”

“What about him?” 

“What if he doesn’t think I’m not allowed to not be angry anymore?” What if he thinks I should be?”

Olivia shrugged. “So what if he does? This is about you. Not Mickey. But from what you’ve told me about him and the sessions he’s come to, I don’t think he wants you to keep hating yourself. But you’ll have to ask him yourself.” 

She glanced at the clock. “Time is almost up.” She handed him a cup of water and some tissues, letting him try to pull himself together.

Ian wiped his eyes with the tissue. “I’m still so fucking sad,” he whispered.

Olivia smiled. “I said earlier progress doesn’t always feel better. This sadness is just the grief, and if you let yourself just feel it, you’ll be able to let go of your anger towards yourself. So just take it easy.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“You did some really amazing work today, Ian. I’m so proud of you. I hope you feel proud of yourself to,” she told him. He shifted on his feet uncomfortably. “Is Mickey out there?”

“Uh, don’t know actually. We didn’t really talk about it. I just figured we’d meet up at home. He’s working.” Ian said.

“Can I walk you out and if he is there I’d really like to share with him how much progress you made today. No details. I think he would be happy to hear it.” She looked at him, waiting to see if he would say that was okay or not.

Ian was completely red now. “Um, you can if you want.” 

She smiled at him and opened the door. He checked his pockets that he had everything he came with, and realized the picture was still on the couch. He went over and smiled a bit at it, and shoved it back into to his pockets.

They walked out into the waiting room. Ian was staring at his feet. He didn’t want anyone to see his puffy face. Even though he was in a fucking therapist office. “Mickey!” Olivia said.

Ian looked up to see Mickey headed towards them. He looked at Ian before, pulling him in for a kiss on the cheek. 

“It’s good to see you,” Olivia said. She beamed looking at Ian. “I asked Ian if he was okay with me sharing this,” she stated. “He claims indifference.” Olivia and Mickey both smirked knowing it wasn’t true but let Ian have his way. “So I’d like to tell you that Ian took some really big steps today. It doesn’t feel great, but it is amazing progress. You should be proud of him” 

Mickey beamed at Ian. “I’m always proud of him.” 

Ian turned red again, and muttered. “Oh my god,” and pushed past them towards to the door. Mickey laughed and followed him.

“See you next week,” Olivia said. Ian didn’t turn around by briefly waved his hand goodbye. 

When they got seated in the truck, Mickey was still beaming at him like the sun shined out of his ass and that sunshine cured cancer. Ian was still red. “Oh my god,” Ian groaned, burying his head in his hands. “Would you fucking stop it?”

Mickey rolled his eyes, but turned away to start the truck. He threw a water bottle at Ian. “Drink that, or you’re gonna get a headache from all that crying.” Mickey pulled out and headed home.

“Gonna get one anyway,” Ian muttered. Mickey glanced at him with his eyebrows up and gave him a look. Ian held up the water and uncapped it. “Alright, alright Christ.” Mickey just reached over and patted Ian on the back. Ian scowled at him in a way that was very reminiscent of Franny.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian talks to Mickey about therapy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of long. And it got away from me. I wrote more too, but I think I'll just add that as extras if anyone even wants my self-indulgent stuff. So this chapter is technically, the official end of the story.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

_"And then she'll get stuck and be scared  
Of the life that's inside her  
Growing stronger each day  
'Til it finally reminds her  
To fight just a little  
To bring back the fire in her eyes  
That's been gone but it used to be mine." --Sara Bareilles, Used to be Mine_

By the time they got back, Ian could feel his headache and he was just so tired. He slumped onto the couch and pulled the blanket around himself, zoning out. Mickey tapped him on the shoulder holding out some ibuprofen and a granola bar. “Thanks,” murmured. Mickey ruffled his hair and went back to the kitchen rooting around for a beer in the fridge.

He found one and wrinkled his nose. “Christ, who bought this shit?” 

“Probably Carl,” Ian replied.

Mickey brought it over to the couch anyway. He took a sip and grimaced but kept drinking it, deeming it worth enoughy to drink. “Gotta go out for some better shit later.” 

Ian leaned into him and tugged on Mickey’s arm. Mickey complied, and wrapped his arm around Ian’s shoulders and squishing Ian against his side. They sat there in comfortable silence for a while. Ian’s head head was starting to droop more and more onto Mickey’s shoulder. 

“Hey, you ok?” Mickey asked softly, glancing down at the top of his husband’s head.

“‘m tired,” Ian slurred. 

“Go take a nap then,” Mickey said. He wasn’t surprised. It looked like Ian had cried a lot. Crying was exhausting.

“Okay,” Ian said and did not move. Mickey rolled his eyes.

“Not here, dumbass”. He tugged Ian into standing, and put his arm around his waist. Mickey guided him up the stairs, and pushed Ian down on the bed. He put a blanket over Ian. 

“I’m going to start dinner. I’ll come get you when it’s done,” Mickey informed him.

Ian gave him a tired thumbs up and fell asleep.  
\--

Dinner came and went in its usual chaotic fashion. Ian was sitting on the bed while Mickey shoved barely folded clean clothes into the drawers.

“I don’t want to hate myself anymore. Or I’d like to hate myself less. Is that okay with you?”

Mickey turned around. What the hell? He tried to think back to if they had some sort of spat about anything related to hating yourself in the last few days, and came up empty. “Uh… the fuck?” 

“Do you want me to hate myself?” Ian asked.

“Do I want-- no,” Mickey said bewildered. 

“Okay,” Ian said and put his headphones in. 

“Okay…” Mickey said back. That was it? 

He tugged Ian’s headphones out of his ear. “Is this some sort of fucked up marriage loyalty test or something because what the fuck, Ian?” 

Ian shook his head. “No.”

“Then what the fuck is it?” 

Ian looked down. “Don’t worry about it. Nevermind.”

“Nevermind?” Mickey yelled, getting angry now.

Ian finally looked up at him. “Yeah, nevermind. I don’t want to talk about it anymore, okay?” 

“No, not fucking okay. You can’t just ask me something like that and not explain it!”

“Well, I just did,” Ian sniped back.

Mickey rubbed his hand over his face and started shouting. “Christ with this fucking bullshit again. You want to talk about something so you start talking about it, usually in a way that has no fucking context so no one knows what the hell you’re talking about. Then you get mad at whatever confused answer you’re given. Then I try to talk again to figure out what the hell is going on, and you get angry at me for trying to talk. But every other time, I don’t talk and share enough, right? I can’t play these mind games with you, Ian! I don’t know what the fuck you want from me!”

Ian just stared at him with a stony face, put his headphones back in, and walked out of their room.

“Real mature. Leave like you always do!” Mickey called after him. The conversation downstairs paused for a second, and then resumed. Mickey heard the back door slam and smelled Ian’s cigarettes through the window. Mickey peered out the window and could see Ian’s knees from where he was sitting on the steps. So, at least he hadn’t gone far. Mickey groaned and threw himself back onto the bed. “What the fuck?” He whispered to himself.

He lay there for a few minutes and then glanced at the clock. 9:05pm. Shit. Ian should take his meds now and Mickey doubted Ian is going to come back up for them. Sighing, he grabbed the pill bottles and put it in his pocket. He ignored everyone downstairs and pulled a water bottle from the fridge. He opened the back door. Ian was sitting on the steps smoking. 

Ian didn’t acknowledge him. And god fucking dammit with Ian’s pissy ways that mirrored a 13 year old girl. Mickey always tried to not take the bait, but it never fucking worked. And you know what who fucking cares? He walked around to stand in front of Ian. Mickey slammed the water bottle and 3 pill bottles one by one onto the step below Ian. Mickey stared down at him. Ian was still avoiding his gaze. “Yeah, you’re welcome,” Mickey spat. He slammed the door going back inside. 

As soon as he was inside, he had another redheaded Gallagher on him. “Okay I don’t know what the fuck the problem is now, but Franny is trying to sleep, so could you lower the volume a few notches?” 

Mickey rolled his eyes and went to say something snippy back. But she had a point. And it was for Franny so. “Uh yeah, sorry,” MIckey muttered. He rubbed his eyebrow with his index finger.

“Thanks,” Debbie said and headed up the stairs to check on her daughter.

Mickey grabbed a beer from the fridge, and sat at the counter. He’d give Ian like ten more minutes before trying to talk to him...again. Mickey watched the minutes go by excruciatingly slow and bounced his legs. Finally, when it hit 10 minutes, Mickey stopped at the fridge. He pulled out a soda and opened the door. He was relieved to see Ian had taken his meds. The water bottle was open and one of the bottles didn’t have the lid screwed on straight. Because fucking Ian.

He sat down next to his husband, and held out the soda. Ian finally looked over at him, and accepted it. Mickey took a long drink from his beer.

“I don’t get a beer?” Ian asked.

“No princess” Mickey replied. “ You get extra pissy when your blood sugar is low. Do us both a favor and drink up” 

Ian popped the soda open and took long drags. Mickey didn’t do anything but kept sipping his beer. He rolled his eyes when Ian belched really loudly and crushed the soda can up. Mickey slowly finished up the last of his beer to give more the soda more than 30 seconds to get into Ian’s system.

“Better now?” Mickey asked. 

Ian looked sheepish and shrugged. “A bit.”

“I don’t understand what the fuck happened,” Mickey said honestly. “At all.” 

Ian sighed and put his knees on his elbow with his hands holding his head up. “I don’t either.” 

“You started it,” Mickey pointed out.

Ian ran his fingers through his hair. “I know, I know. I don’t know. Maybe I was just hangry or something.”

“Hangry?” Mickey arched his eyebrows at him.

“Yeah, like hungry and angry together. When you’re hungry and you get angry, it’s called hangry,” Ian explained. 

“That’s fucking stupid,” Mickey said in response. Ian just shrugged at him. “So you’re going to be a fucking bitch every time you’re hungry now, is that it?” 

Ian looked indignant. “No…,” he said, drawing the word out.

Mickey rolled his eyes and huffed irritatedly. “Oh so we’re just going to blame this on your blood sugar, and I’m supposed to what, just let it go and make sure Princess Ian is always fed and watered?” 

Ian said nothing, avoiding looking at Mickey again.

“Fuck no. You owe me a better explanation,” Mickey said. He crossed his arms.

Ian nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.” He sighed and then continued, “It’s related to what I talked about in therapy today.” 

Ian took a second and tried to figure out how to word this to Mickey. Mickey, still agitated, took the silence as avoidance. “You gonna fucking expand on that?”

Ian shot him a glare. “If you gave me a second to get my thoughts together, yeah.” 

Mickey sucked a breath in and let it out like he was trying to calm himself.

Ian picked at his sleeves. “Okay so,” Ian started. “Seeing the picture made me sad yesterday. But it was like a weird sad. Like, that kid in the picture had so many plans, right? That never happened because the bipolar egg in my brain finally cracked. I was also just stupid.” 

Ian stopped to see if Mickey was following him. “Mhm, right,” Mickey said.

“So like I said, it’s a weird sad. You ever just see something shitty happen to someone and you feel sad for them? Like sympathetic?” 

“Yeah,” Mugged answered.

“So I felt like that but towards myself. My younger self. I was just sad. Like I was a kid. I didn’t know any better. I couldn’t have done anything differently. I didn’t have the knowledge or skills or support. I just didn’t know. How was I supposed to know barely 18 with a mental illness? I’ve been so angry at myself all this time about everything that led up to me being hospitalized and the hospitalization. I’ve hated myself for all of it for years. I thought I had to otherwise I would turn into a bad person even more than I already was,” Ian said. 

Mickey sat frozen, not moving, waiting for Ian to continue.

“So like seeing that picture, I was just sad for who I was. I wasn’t really angry. I was just sad. Olivia called it grief. So what if, I don’t have to be angry at myself anymore for it? What if I just say that it happened and it wasn’t okay but accept I couldn’t have done anything else. What if I don’t have to hate myself for it? Is that allowed?” Ian finished. He looked at Mickey with silent tears streaming down his face.

“You’ve never had to hate yourself,” Mickey said around the lump in his throat. 

“Olivia says it’s not really about you, but it is. Most of it happened with you, and affected you. And I don’t want to be letting myself off the hook for something that I shouldn’t be. So...I don’t know. I guess I’m asking you. Can I let it go? Can I just, I don’t know, forgive myself? Or does that invalidate what happened to you and hurt you?”

Mickey stared at him. He was crying now too. Fuck, how was he supposed to respond to this? He wasn’t good at this shit and this was so important to Ian. “Ian...I...I’m not the best at this shit, okay? I don’t have the words like you. I know it’s important to you but I can’t tell you anything profound, I’m sorry.”

Ian took his hands. “I don’t care. I just want you to say what you want to say. It doesn’t have to be special.” 

“You’re asking me if you’re allowed to stop hating yourself over things you did when you were a fucking kid? Like 10 years ago?” Mickey clarified.

Ian nodded.”I’m asking if you think I’m allowed.”

Mickey just blinked at him. God, sometimes this fucker was so fucking stupid he couldn’t bear it. He laughed wetly. “God, you’re so stupid.”

Ian looked like he’d been kicked but Mickey laughed and held his hand up. “Of course you’re allowed to not hate yourself! I don’t want you to hate yourself. I wish I had known this was something that bothered you because,” Mickey pressed his hands into his eyes to try to stop more tears from coming out. “It makes me so fucking sad you feel like that.” 

Mickey pulled Ian into him and wrapped his arms around him. “Please don’t hate yourself anymore,” he whispered into Ian’s hair.

Ian gulped and didn’t let go. “You’re not mad at me for all of that? I’m talking just up to when I got hospitalized. I don’t mean everything after because I know that was actually truly really shitty and I should have known better and I--”

Mickey pulled back but kept his hands on Ian’s shoulders.”You’re so goddamn stupid, you know that? I was never mad at you for that. And as for what happened after, yeah, I was mad at you but we’ve talked about this.”

Ian’s breaths were coming out shuddering. He tried to get control of them. “So, I’m allowed to let this go? Because I don’t want to hate myself about that stuff anymore. I’m so tired of it.”

Mickey wiped some of the tears off of Ian’s face. “Yes. Stop fucking hating yourself. Jesus christ. Stop hating your bitchy, pissy, big softy with a small brain self. Fuck!” 

Ian laughed. “And Mickey is back.” 

“I’m tired of talking. Please tell me we’re fucking done for now.” Mickey groaned.

Ian laughed again and kissed his husband's head. “Yeah, we’re done. You did good.”

Mickey breathed out a sigh of relief and slowly stood up. He groaned while popping all his joints. 

He picked up his beer bottle and Ian’s pills, and turned to go inside. 

“Hey!” Ian said. Mickey stopped. Ian came over to look Mickey in the eyes, and stroke his cheek. “Thank you.”

Mickey just smirked slightly, and went inside.


	4. Extra Self-Indulgent Scenes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Any further chapters are just going to be my self-indulgent continuation of the story. So think of it like extra scenes they cut from a movie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra Scene  
> Thanks for reading!

Lip and Tami looked up as they came in. Fred was asleep in the play pen. 

“You guys are still here?” Ian asked. 

“Uh yeah,” Lip said. “Fred fell asleep in there and if we move him he’ll wake up…” 

“Got it,” Ian said and sat down on the edge of the couch. 

Lip eyed his brother critically. “You guys good?” 

“Yep. I’m taking a shower now.” He looked at Ian. “You coming up?”

“Uh, I think I’ll stay here for a bit. I’ll be up later.” 

Mickey shrugged and went up the steps. Ian clearly just needed some time with his brother and Mickey seriously needed a shower. Fred stirred and started crying.

“Shit,” Lip and Tami said at the same time. They looked at each other and laughed a little. “Alright, let’s take him back,” Lip said.

Tami pulled Fred up and put him on her shoulder and shifted him back and forth. She leaned into Lip, while looking at Ian who was opening a beer. “I got it,” Tami said in undertones. “You should stay.”

Lip looked back and forth between Tami and Freddie, and Ian. “You sure?”

Tami looked pointedly at Ian, and then back at Lip. She gave him that look that she gave him that basically said are you fucking stupid. Lip nodded. “Okay, I’ll be back later.” 

Tami said good night to Ian, and Lip joined Ian in the kitchen. Ian was staring down at the counter with watery eyes. “You can go, you know,” Ian said. “I’m okay.” 

He blinked and some of the tears fell out. Ian quickly wiped them away. “Yeah, clearly,” Lip said dryly. 

Ian looked at him pleadingly. “I’m serious Lip, go be with your kid.”

“Nah I’m good. Fuck off.” Lip replied. He moved around Ian to grab a soda and that plopped himself back on the couch.  
Ian sat down on the other side. “So you and Tami look like you’re doing good,” Ian prompted.

Lip genuinely smiled. “Yeah, for once.” 

Ian smiled at him. That smile that Lip loved so much that was always so goddamn happy for everyone else, and not in a bullshit fake way.

“See how long it lasts,” Lip joked. Lip glanced sideways at him. “Everything okay with you and Mickey? Hard to not hear you fighting.” 

Ian looked embarrassed. “Uh yeah, sorry about that.” 

Lip shrugged and stared at Ian waiting for his question to be answered. 

“I..I think so,” Ian said but it came out more like a question. He got choked up again. “I’m...just...um…really fucking sad, LIp,” Ian said quietly. He felt Lip move so they were shoulder to shoulder on the couch. 

“Mickey do something?” 

Ian laughed and wiped his eyes. “No, no. It’s just me and my bullshit.” 

Lip put his arm around Ian’s back and lightly squeezed his neck. “Yeah?” He asked gently.

Ian sighed and wiped his tears again. God he’d been crying all day and his face fucking hurt but he couldn’t make it stop.”It’s uh, it’s stupid,” he said glancing at his brother. 

Lip rolled his eyes. “Yeah and I’ve seen you with a lot of versions of stupid so I don’t know if you can phase me anymore.” 

“You ever feel mad at yourself about something, and then years down the line you realizze you’re just sad about it. Like sad for yourself, like the same way you would be sad for soeone else going through something. And then you realize you don’t have to be mad at yourself and hate yourself anymore. So then you have to let it go but you’re still so fucking sad while doing it?”

“Eh, not exactly, but yeah I know what you mean. Talk about it a lot in AA. Letting go of lost opportunities because we were drunks. They call it grief, I think,” Lip said.

“Yeah that’s what Olivia said,” Ian replied.

“Your therapist?” 

Ian nodded. “So what did you do?”

Lip sighed and put his arm all the way around Ian so his hand was on his shoulder. “Honestly, dude? You just kinda have to let yourself be upset about it until you’re not. You gotta feel the feelings, as they say.” Lip smirked.  
“Fuck,” Ian muttered. “Yeah she said that too.”

“Oh so maybe you should dump your therapist and I’ll just start charging you,” Lip teased. 

Ian laughed. “Fuck off.” 

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Lip squeezed his shoulder. “If you’re good, I’m gonna go back.”

They both stood up. “Yeah, yeah. I’m good,” Ian said. He looked at his older brother shyly. “Uh, thanks.” 

Lip didn’t reply. He just pulled Ian into a hug. If it lasted longer than normal, Lip didn’t say anything. If some tears were on his shirt now, he didn’t say anything.

When Ian stepped back and wiped his eyes, Lip patted him on the back. “Text me if you need anything, see ya later baby bro.” 

Ian rolled his eyes. He heard Lip laughing. Ian shook his head, and started to drag himself up the steps. God he was fucking tired, and his whole sinus region hurt. He flopped face onto the bed next to Mickey.

“So dramatic,” Mickey teased.

“Shut up,” Ian said. His voice was muffled by the pillows. He pulled himself up and made himself brush his teeth and change his clothes. Mickey noticed he kept squeezing his nose and rubbing his head.

“You need more ibuprofen?” 

“Nah. I’m just going to sleep it off.” Ian climbed into bed, snuggled under the pillows and closed his eyes. MIckey shut off the light and moved down to join him. He waited for Ian to come cuddle with him, but he was out. Mickey wondered if there was a record for how fast someone could conk out.


End file.
